


Melting Ice

by gracedkelly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedkelly/pseuds/gracedkelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione didn't like watching Malfoy whenever she crossed his path, but she felt like she had to. Someone had to keep an eye on him. He had done monstrous things after all. Whenever he entered a room, Hermione's gaze was drawn to him, like an art connoisseur's to a Rubens. She had to study the paint, the game of tag between shadows and light, that made it a masterpiece. Not that Malfoy was a masterpiece to her, and she certainly didn't care about him. Of course not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My name (still) isn't JK Rowling, and I don't lay claim to any of her hard work.**

_Hello my darlings,_

_Some of you may remember the little competition I hosted on Tumblr. A lot of people voted for me to write a Dramione fic, so here we are._

_Dramione in a Hogwarts setting proved a lot harder to write than I initially thought. I'm super nervous about this one, because I want everyone to like it as much as I did as I wrote it._

_If you're not here because of Tumblr, then I applaud you because my summary, like always, sucks. :')_

_This story will be about how Hermione and Draco deal with the events during and prior The Deathly Hallows. There will be PTSD, there will be romance and there will be angst. If you're game for these three things, then I welcome you. If you're not, I will still welcome you. (Just be nice if you dislike it.)_

_I am not JK Rowling so my biggest fear is that I see her characters in a different light than someone else. Know that I mean no offense in my portrayal of these characters. Just like with "The Christmas Date" I'll be uploading a new chapter ever Sunday._

_That being said, I would love to hear your thoughts on this work! Enjoy!_

_Love,_

_Kelly_

**I Of Monsters and Witches**

1\. Isolation

Hermione was in denial about many things, but not about Draco Malfoy. She might not hate him as much as she used to – he did throw his wand at Harry during the final battle, after all – but that didn't mean she liked him. That didn't mean anything, but that he wasn't the monster she'd always thought he was. Okay, maybe that was taking it a bit far, she thought.

Draco Malfoy wasn't a monster, but he was more than just a villain.

She'd been worrying over her mental analysis of his behaviour that day when she realised she'd be late for dinner if she didn't hurry.

She hurried along the empty and chilly corridors of Hogwarts, and wished – not for the first time – that her friends were with her. It was weird spending so much time apart, especially after they'd been inseparable for the past year when they hunted Horcruxes.

Hermione tried to fight the chill that had settled in her body as she dashed through a maze of corridors. So many had died in May. Had it really only been months ago? She'd tried not to notice the castle's new inhabitants, but it was rather hard when she used to sit next to them in classes.

So yes, maybe they weren't new inhabitants per se, but they certainly were new ghosts.

She was doing this all  _wrong_.

She stopped when she arrived at the Great Hall, and before entering, hid behind a pillar to catch her breath. She hadn't realised that she'd been running her way down. A sob caught in her throat, and she cursed herself for not going home during the holidays.

She'd written Harry that she couldn't see  _him_  right now, and she'd written  _him_  that staying at school would keep her more focused on her studies. Ron hadn't deserved the way she'd broken things off over the summer, but they were just too young and this was going too fast and Hermione  _couldn't breathe._

She loved Ron. Had loved him for years, but it didn't feel the same  _after_. That wasn't his fault, nor was it hers. Nothing bad had happened over the summer, but the epic kiss they'd shared during last year's battle had been the only one that conveyed so much emotion and love.

After the thrill of the chase and being chased, Hermione wanted more out of life. She wanted more than the standard job at the Ministry of Magic, she wanted more than the 2,63 children Muggle analysts promised her she was likely to have. Hermione tried to calm herself down. There was no reason to have a panic attack on the first day of the Christmas holidays.

She'd insisted on coming back to finish her school career this year, despite her parents' wishes. Harry and Ron had supported her decision, but she could tell that they both thought she was crackers. They had enrolled into Auror school, and she missed them terribly. Hogwarts just wasn't the same without them. Ginny tried to make her feel welcome and appreciated, but mostly Hermione just felt lonely. Not unlike how she'd felt when she first came to this school when she was eleven.

She couldn't help but feel that she needed to be alone to find herself again, and that maybe them being apart wasn't such a bad thing at all.

She knew this, but she felt like today wasn't one of those days where she accepted it as well. She irrationally felt abandoned by everyone.

Someone would surely come looking for her if she didn't pull herself together and faced the music. She stumbled from behind the pillar, when she thought the coast was clear.

It was only then that she saw how beautifully decorated the pillars in front of the Great Hall were. Enchanted blue and silver lights floated up and down the pillars and lit a path to the great, wooden doors of the Great Hall.

From what she could see, from where she stood, the Great Hall itself had been transformed into an ice palace. Floating candles, little bushes of mistletoe and the ceiling was snowing faintly under a dark winter sky.

She didn't really think she was ready to go in yet, because she knew who she'd see there. It was weird how she'd started obsessing over someone she used to hate, and still heavily disliked. Was it really because Harry and Ron weren't here with her? Was she catching Harry's crazy from sixth year? He'd been really obsessed with the lad himself then, and now he seemed to have passed the torch on to her.

Hermione didn't like watching Malfoy whenever she crossed his path, but she felt like she had to. It wasn't that she expected that he would do something nasty or evil. No, her gaze was drawn to him, like an art connoisseur's to a Rubens. She had to study the paint, the game of tag between shadows and light, that made it a masterpiece. Not that Malfoy was a masterpiece to her, it merely shocked her to see that he was struggling as much with what had happened as everyone else.

Which was only logical, she supposed, and yet she didn't trust his reaction. She felt like it was up to her to keep an eye on him for all of them, to ensure that he didn't lead another pack of stray Death Eaters into the Great Hall.

With a deep breath, she tried to finally push Malfoy, the battle and Harry and Ron from her mind. These thoughts would do her no good now. She closed her eyes for a second, before she entered the Great Hall. In the middle of the room, a small table was set for the those that were left behind this Christmas. There were only ten of them this year, and Hermione could understand the need to leave this place filled with ghosts and nightmares.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever wake up.

The teachers were merrily chatting away on their usual seats, and some of them nodded at her when they spotted her walking down the length of the Hall to join the others. She forced a smile as she sat down at the large, round table and grabbed a piece of bread.

"Hi Hermione," Seamus greeted her. His sandy hair looked a little dishevelled, which wasn't that weird since she'd seen him napping on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room earlier.

"Hey," she murmured with a little smile, and nodded to Dean who was sitting next to Seamus. Next to Dean sat a first year Hufflepuff named Anita. She'd become an orphan after the Second Wizarding War, and would rather stay at school than go back to her grandmother's. She had tiny freckles dotted across her nose and was quite popular already among the other first years. She'd do well here, Hermione thought.

Next to her sat Zacharias Smith, much to Hermione's dismay. He didn't greet her, even though they used to be in DA together. In a way she was glad, she didn't like the way Zacharias had behaved in the years she'd known him. Maybe Ron's dislike for him had rubbed off on her, but the way he'd gone on and on about Cedric Diggory during DA meetings had been grating.

She could understand the curiosity and thirst for knowledge, but he hadn't wanted to know about Cedric's last moments because he cared. No, he'd wanted to know because of the sensation, because he'd probably wanted bragging rights and because he didn't believe Harry.

Harry was Hermione's best friend, and it felt like when you hated him, you also hated her. She wouldn't stand by and watch any of her friends be mistreated. Definitely not by Zacharias Smith.

Next to Zacharias sat two Ravenclaws. Her gaze moved further along the round table, and she saw that on her other side another third year was sat.

"Quinten, right?" she asked the uncomfortable looking Slytherin next to her.

It couldn't be easy staying at Hogwarts with only one other Slytherin as your companion.

The boy gulped as he stared at her, before he quickly nodded and turned to look at the Slytherin seated between him and the two Ravenclaws. Draco Malfoy didn't even so much as glance at him.

Okay then. Hermione sighed and decided that some mashed potatoes would probably make her feel better.

"Anyway," Seamus said, "as I was saying, I just don't get what you're doing here this year, Malfoy."

Zacharias snorted at that. "Me neither."

"Well," Hermione said flippantly without thinking, "none of us get why you're here either, Zacharias."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the lean blond asked Hermione heatedly, a blush rising to his cheeks.

"If one wants to abandon a sinking ship, all they have to do is follow the rats," she said vehemently.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Please," Dean suddenly said, speaking up. "Didn't you run from the battle last year?"

Zacharias gave the Gryffindors a filthy look. "We weren't obligated to stand with Potter, you know."

"Oh," Rina, a fifth year Ravenclaw, said. Her hazel eyes zeroed in on Zacharias as if she was an eagle that had just spotted its prey. "Are you telling us you stood with You-Know-Who?"

"Voldemort," Hermione heard Draco whisper under his breath.

She paused and lowered the fork she'd been about to put in her mouth. She gripped it tighter and turned slightly to study the Slytherin sitting one seat away from her. His strong jaw was clenched as he stared at Rina.

"I didn't quite catch that," Rina said with a raised eyebrow, pushing her long raven hair out of her face as she focused on him.

"His name was Voldemort," Malfoy repeated again. "You might as well use it now."

Hermione silently stared at him, like everyone else at the table minus the small Slytherin on her left.

"Right," Seamus drawled. The drawl made his Scottish accent even heavier than it already was. He shook his head incredulously, as if he couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "We'll take advise from the biggest traitor at this table. Why McGonagall allowed you to come back, I'll never understand."

"Education should be available to all," the girl on Rina's right and Malfoy's left spoke up. She was wearing some of the mashed potatoes Hermione had been enjoying, and had her red hair done in a nice looking braid Hermione was a little jealous of.

"Listen, Frey, I would normally agree with you," Seamus started, shoving his fork roughly into his mountain of minced carrots, "but I doubt Malfoy's money couldn't hire him tutors so he could be homeschooled."

Hermione saw Malfoy shift in his seat from the corner of her eyes. "My money," he finally said coldly, "is none of your business."

"You shouldn't even be here," Seamus bit out, before shovelling his food into his mouth violently.

Hermione made a face as she watched the complete lack of table manners next to her. She just prayed that he wouldn't accidentally spit any of it on her when he talked. He ate with so much gusto, despite his anger, that it reminded her a little of Ron, and she couldn't help but grimace a little.

"Hermione might not think I deserve a place at this table, but I would much rather be a coward than a traitor," Zacharias added with a nasty glint in his eyes as he sneered at Malfoy.

"Just leave him alone already," Hermione told everyone at the table, interrupting whatever angry speech Malfoy was about to give. She couldn't deny that Malfoy had been her rival in more ways than one. He might have been working against them in the past, but he'd been nipping at her heels with his grades. He was still a close second to her near perfect grades in classes. She understood Malfoy's need to come back to school on an academic level.

On a social level, or on a human level, she would have advised him to stay far away from them all. She didn't know why she'd spoken up on his behalf though, he certainly wouldn't have for her.

But she was done with everyone whining about Malfoy's presence at the castle. If she heard one more moan about it, she was going to erupt like the Fat Lady at a concert hall. The horrible screams that would leave her throat would give them headaches for days. It had been McGonagall's decision to allow him back, and Hermione trusted McGonagall.

She got a bit flustered when everyone turned to her. "I just meant," she said a bit more carefully, "that it's none of our business why he returned."

Dean gave her a weird and worried look. "Are you quite all right, Hermione?"

If others were starting to notice that she was tearing at the seams, she needed to do a better job of hiding her broken parts. "Just peachy," she replied primly.

"It almost sounds like you care whether he stays or not, Granger," Zacharias said with a scowl that did nothing to compliment his features. He should have graduated last year, but thanks to the Battle all exams had been cancelled. A lot of past year's students had returned for one last year at Hogwarts, but Hermione wished that Zacharias hadn't been one of them.

She shouldn't have spoken up on Malfoy's behalf. She knew from experience what it was like to be picked on, to be sneered at, but most of that had come from Draco himself. She should have left it alone. Without looking in Malfoy's direction, she said, "Draco Malfoy is nothing to me."

* * *

 

Hermione was seated at her favourite table in the library. She'd tried to tame her insane haystack she called hair again by putting it in a ponytail. She wondered if the elastic band would have bursted by the end of the day.

It was Sunday morning and Christmas was only four days away, but Hermione Granger didn't feel very merry at the moment. Melancholy was a better term to describe how she was feeling, she supposed. Whenever she tried to focus on her homework, she kept seeing the face of Lavender Brown as Greyback feasted on her flesh like the monster he'd been.

She took a deep breath and remembered how Lavender had stirred after Hermione had blasted him off of her. Professor Trelawney had knocked him over the head with one of her blasted crystal balls, but even the thought of Divination finally being useful for once couldn't cheer Hermione up.

She tried to revise her Transfiguration homework again, but all she saw were Lavender's brown eyes staring back at her instead of her neat handwriting.

She rolled up the sleeves of her blue jumper and put her head on her balled fist as she stared unseeingly through the window.

The grounds had been restored the way they'd been before the battle had occurred. Winter now coated the world in a lovely blanket of snow and ice, but the lovely picture King Winter had painted outside left her cold. She didn't much care about the snow, when she knew that an Order member had died on the exact spot Rina and her friend were currently throwing snowballs at each other.

It was eerie in a way, Hermione thought, how easily she could fall back into the past. She wished she still had her Timeturner, because she would love a chance to do it all over again. To save Lavender before it was too late, to save Fred, to prevent Remus and Tonks from dying. She didn't want Teddy to grow up without parents, and she couldn't understand how they'd just abandoned him.

How they'd all been so reckless to get killed.

"Blimey, Hermione," she said to herself, "you're being irrational."

She knew no one had forgotten about the fallen. There was now a huge plaque at Hogwarts' entrance with all the names of the dead. No one had forgotten, and no one would ever be able to forget. And that might be what angered her the most. No matter how hard she tried, whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw were flashes of light chasing the ones she loved. She praised both Merlin and Morgana that so many of her friends had gotten out of that hell alive.

When she opened her eyes again, they fell on the scar on her arm.

"Mudblood," it said.

Air left her on a loud whoosh as she kept staring at the reminder Bellatrix Lestrange had left on her arm. Healers had assured her that they could take the scar away, but just like Harry, she'd refused. He still had the reminder not to tell lies on his hand, and she would wear the proof of her heritage with pride.

Yes, she was a "Mudblood", and she had survived the second war whereas Bellatrix had not. Many Purebloods obsessed with the purity of the Wizarding World hadn't, and Hermione couldn't say she regretted their passing as much as she did her friends'. It was still a shame that anyone had had to die, and it made her ashamed to say that she was relieved that Bellatrix was now gone. Sometimes, she could still feel the echo of Bellatrix' cackling and of the horrible sting in her arm.

Her quill broke in two, and with a shake of her head, she grabbed her wand.

"Snap out of it," she told herself, as she wordlessly repaired her quill.

She forced her eyes back to the parchment before her, and her neat handwriting was a welcome sight. Hermione wasn't fond of running away from her problems. She liked tackling them until she'd solved them.

When Hermione couldn't figure out how to use a certain difficult spell, for instance, she'd practice all night, if need be, until she'd mastered it.

It was harder to be a master of your own head when your brain rebelled against the mere thought of moving on. Hermione's books helped her find the focus she'd lost over the years. Whenever she had a goal, she used books to guide her through the obstacles she faced to reach it. Hermione liked studying and the tunnel vision she had whenever she was lost trying to figure out a difficult spell or potion. When Hermione held a book in her hands, there was nothing else but her and endless possibilities. It helped her take her mind off those horrible memories, and let her focus on the future instead.

Merlin, how she wanted a fulfilling future, and the only way to get there, or so she figured, was to finish school and find a job that would help her do some actual good in the world. Never again, did she want something like the past two wars to happen, and if that meant she had to find a job at the dreaded Ministry then so be it. But she preferred to avoid it if she could.

She'd finished revising her Transfiguration essay, and had only just started on her Runes translation when she heard someone taking a seat at the table behind the bookcase before her.

"It's sad in a way," a small voice said, "that they didn't succeed. We would have a lot more time with our professors if there were only Purebloods at Hogwarts."

Silence greeted that statement, and Hermione pushed herself out of her chair. What the bloody hell did that snobbish little brat think he was saying?

"Shut up," a cold voice hissed, "that kind of thinking got hundreds killed."

She froze when she recognised the voice. Draco Malfoy was speaking up for Muggleborns?

"Y-You can't say that you've changed your ideals?"

Hermione moved to the bookcase and peered curiously through a crack between the books to catch a glimpse of Malfoy and Quinten. Malfoy was sitting with his face towards her, and Hermione allowed her eyes to travel over what she could see of his body.

He was wearing a soft green jumper that made his eyes pop and hugged his shoulders. His hair was neatly styled, as always, and his frosty eyes were coldly regarding the small boy before him. He looked like a prince made of ice.

"You don't know what you're saying," Malfoy said unfeelingly. "You're an ignorant twelve-year-old boy. You should stop spouting nonsense before it gets you sent to Azkaban."

"Ah. So you're just saying whatever gets you out of trouble?"

She hadn't thought it possible, but his eyes frosted over even more. His hard features seemed to sharpen in the soft December light as he looked the boy up and down. He opened his mouth to speak, when his eyes suddenly snapped to hers.

Hermione pulled back and moved out of sight as if she'd been shocked. She leaned against the bookcase for a moment as she caught her breath.

"Draco?" she heard Quinten ask curiously.

She'd taken the Slytherin boy for a meek follower, someone out of place now that his friends had gone home for the holidays. How wrong she'd been. In him still slumbered the ideals and wishes of the wizarding elite. They, too, seemed stuck in the past and wished to return.

But unlike her, the Pureblood families didn't want to change anything. No, they wanted everything to remain exactly the same.

The fact that someone that young was still brainwashed into that way of thinking, while appearing meek and frightened in the company of others, made Hermione furious.

These games they played were dangerous.

Besides, who did Draco Malfoy think he was? Saying the right stuff so he wouldn't follow his crazy family's example and be locked up in Azkaban? Was that really what he was doing?

How dare he pretend he was better than anyone else? When it was his fault that the Death Eaters managed to get inside in the first place!

He had been tasked to kill Dumbledore, and he had lured Katja Bell to a bathroom and hexed her. Draco Malfoy was the scum of the Earth, and Seamus had been right. He didn't deserve to be here anymore. He'd had his chance, and he'd gotten Dumbledore killed.

The more she thought about it, the less she understood McGonagall.

She moved to her table and started throwing her stuff into her bag. She needed out of here, before she hexed the ice prince into a puddle of mud water.

"Eavesdropping, Granger?"

His voice was like a frosty winter day; beautiful, but brisk.

"Get away from me, Malfoy," she muttered, as she turned around to face him. She didn't fear this ferret. She'd seen his worst sides, and there were many. None of them had scared her. She raised her chin. Hit me with your worst, she seemed to say.

"Or what?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow, which told her he was less than impressed by her performance.

She opened her mouth, and she was sure that a year ago she would have given him a witty retort. Right now, however, she came up empty, which hadn't really happened to her before. She closed her mouth again, realising how idiotic she must have looked, and pushed her way past him. She hurried out of the library and allowed her feet to carry her as fast as she could towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

The steady cadence of her feet seemed to ground her more than a nasty dig at Malfoy ever could have. It almost seemed like the knights standing guards in the corridors were trees, and she was madly dashing through the woods again, trying to escape.

But she wasn't, she was back at school, and she hadn't realised that she'd arrived at the Common Room.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked her in an irritable voice, making Hermione wonder just how often she'd already asked.

She looked around herself, a bit embarrassed, and wondered how long she'd been staring blindly ahead of her.

"Christmas carol."

The portrait swung open, and when she entered the Common Room, she spotted Seamus and Dean, who'd been sitting suspiciously close to each other. Normally, Hermione would have cracked a joke or teased them a little, but she couldn't be bothered today. She smiled at their greetings, but made no effort to join them.

Even the twinkling Christmas tree beside them looked bleak to Hermione in that moment.

She hurried her way upstairs, where she dropped her bag on the floor. When she heard her ink bottle crack she stomped her foot on the ground in frustration. But instead of banding down to rescue her essay, she slowly walked to the window and sat down in front of it.

She stared towards the Lake and let her memories of happier days whisk her away.


	2. Puzzling Slytherins and Determined Gryffindors

**II Puzzling Slytherins and Determined Gryffindors**

**1\. Isolation**

That afternoon Hermione found herself sitting on one of the window seats on the fifth floor. She was reading a book – Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë – in order to keep herself distracted and amused. She'd dressed herself into a thick blue jumper and grey woollen pants. In addition to the cosy outfit, she'd donned a heavy white scarf she could snuggle into while reading.

It was rather brisk in the corridor, but the peace and quiet were worth the chill.

Hermione tried to keep her focus on the novel, but she was easily distracted by everything around her. After her little breakdown that morning, she'd written Ginny a letter to assure both herself and her friend that she was doing fine on her own here. She wondered how the Christmas holidays were coming along at the Barrow though, and how everyone else was dealing with the aftermath of the war.

She'd heard that Fleur was due in a few months, and Hermione was thrilled for both her and Bill. They'd make great parents, she thought, and it would give Teddy someone to play with when he came over for the holidays. Teddy lived with his grandmother, Andromeda, and while Harry would have loved to look after him, it was clear to everyone around that he wasn't ready for it.

Besides, Harry agreed that Teddy should be with Andromeda for both their sakes. It couldn't have been easy for Andromeda to have lost everyone but Teddy. It would have devastated her to take away her only grandson as well.

Hermione bit her lip and stared at the book she was gently holding in her lap. The book was worn and in poor condition, which pulled at her heartstrings. She should never have let her mother borrow it during the summer. She'd taken it with her to the pool, broken the spine and crinkled the corners of the cover. For someone like Hermione who took pride in her book collection, it was horrid to see how some people treated their books.

Then again, she knew her mum well and still borrowed the book to her. That's love for you, Hermione thought. She opened the novel again, which had fallen shut during her musings, and searched for the page she'd been at.

Her fingers caressed the paper and followed the typed lines across the pages as if she were reading Braille. Soon the story absorbed her completely, and her eyes greedily drank it in.

She'd always been fascinated by the selfishness of the two main characters. She liked how Emily Brontë explored love and its destructive symptoms. The torturous obsession and the explosive aggression on Catherine's and Heathcliff's sides both, were phenomenal to read. Hermione didn't believe that love was obsession, healthy love certainly wasn't, but this gothic novel was her guilty pleasure nonetheless.

When she felt her stomach rumble, she shut the book and wondered if she'd go to the kitchen tonight instead. Breakfast hadn't been too bad, since it had only been her and Anita, but she really didn't fancy another disaster like last night's dinner. So kitchen it was.

She adjusted her scarf and pulled her hair out of the way a little as she walked towards the kitchen. She made a point of walking slowly this time. She didn't need to run everywhere. Not anymore, at least.

When she arrived in the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff Common Room, she tickled the pear and faintly smiled at its giggle. When the green doorknob appeared, she opened the door and stepped inside. She only made it a few steps before she completely froze when she saw who was sitting there.

She stood there, gawking, for a few minutes, before she marched on. Hermione was a Gryffindor, darn it, and she didn't need to leave because Draco bloody Malfoy was there. She moved past the table he'd claimed though and instead picked the teacher's table to sit at.

While Malfoy studied her every move until she sat down, he didn't speak. She saw him grimace a little, but she made a point of not looking at him.

"Miss! Miss Hermione," a voice piped up sweetly.

Hermione looked up, just in time to see Winky swagger towards her. "Did you drink too much Butterbeer again, Winky?" she asked, a tad amused.

"Miss is observant! Do Miss want something to eat?"

"Yes, please, Winky. Whatever they're having upstairs would be great." Hermione pursed her lips as the House Elf scurried away. Winky only bumped into two inanimate objects, which was quite an accomplishment in Winky's intoxicated condition. She looked around the kitchen and, although she knew that this was what House Elves loved to do with their lives, she couldn't help but feel a pang of pity.

They shouldn't be house slaves to magical folk. But after the S.P.E.W. fiasco, Hermione only hoped that one of them would come to her if something were amiss. She certainly wouldn't try to force any more clothes on any House Elves. No, she was quite done with that.

She gently laid the book beside her on the table, and she tried not to feel Malfoy's eyes drilling holes in her back. She was probably imagining that he was staring at her anyway. Why would he study her so intensely? Hermione was imagining things.

Hermione stubbornly stared at the fireplace before her and told herself not to be an idiot. She was acutely aware of Draco Malfoy like one was aware of a plague ravaging Europe during the Dark Ages.

Malfoy being a plague reminded her of the library yesterday, and she turned around to stare at him instead.

As she'd predicted, he hadn't been looking her way. Draco Malfoy was eating his meal as if he were fighting a war. His jaw moved fiercely, his eyes were narrowed while his table manners were still on point.

"Was there something you wanted, Granger?" Malfoy asked without looking up.

The arrogance of that bastard simply astounded her. "There are several things I want," Hermione said.

"Isn't that a pity," Malfoy replied with a slight smirk.

Hermione frowned at him and wondered if it'd be worth it to throw her precious book at his pompous head. "Try not to infect anyone else with your way of thinking while you're here, Malfoy. I heard what you said in the library, and I want you to leave him alone."

"Hermione Granger," Malfoy coldly mocked, "coming to the rescue of poor Slytherins. I assure you, Granger, Slytherins don't need the help of a Gryffindor."

"Sure seemed like it last year when a certain Slytherin was about to be fried in the Room of Requirement," Hermione said sharply, before she turned around and allowed herself a little smile. Malfoy could pretend to be as high and mighty all he wanted; it wouldn't help his tarnished reputation one bit.

She waited for his retaliation and had her wand gripped tightly underneath the table. When her food arrived, and Draco still hadn't cursed her to do the Hippogriff until she dropped dead, she frowned. "Thank you, Winky."

"I is not Winky, Miss!"

Hermione blinked and studied the House Elf a little better. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologised, when she realised her error. "Who are you and where did Winky go?"

The House Elf looked a little embarrassed as he rubbed his tiny arms. "Trenkie, Miss. Miss mustn't be angry with Winky. Winky fell asleep, Miss."

Hermione gave him an appreciative smile and selfishly wished he'd stop using the word 'Miss' so much. "I'm not angry at all. I hope she has a nice rest." She was starting to feel a little like a mother hen. "The food smells delicious. Please tell the others so as well?"

The House Elf perked up. "Thank you, Miss. Trenkie will tell them."

"Thank you, Trenkie," she shouted after him as he ran away to tell the others.

She shook her head, and couldn't help but feel a smidgen better already. Hermione liked coming to the kitchens. The House Elves always knew how to make the place smell amazing.

Now that she had amazing smelling food presented before her, Hermione wasn't hungry. She started toying with her chips as she let her mind wander back to her novel. She wondered what it would have been like to live in a world with so many restrictive rules and habits. A woman didn't really have many rights back then.

Hermione decided that that kind of world, though nice to read about, was no place for her. She would have lost her mind in that kind of setting.

Malfoy and Hermione ate their meal in silence, while several questions were burning on the back of Hermione's tongue. She would never really ask them, because curiosity killed the cat and all that, but she would like to know why Malfoy had refused to go upstairs. Had he finally had enough of his peers' criticism? Or maybe he couldn't handle the critique without his clique?

Why was he even here? Didn't he want to go home and see his family? Why did Hermione even care? He had been nothing but a bully to her in the past. He was more of a pest, really.

When she'd finished her plate, she looked over her shoulder only to see Malfoy quietly talking to a House Elf. The Elf gave him a few weirdly coloured socks.

Hermione didn't make a sound as she watched the scene unfold before her. Were those Dobby's socks? She was quite certain that she'd seen him wearing that horrid green one with purple polka dots. To her amazement, Malfoy accepted the socks and clenched them in his fists. Since he was turned sideways, facing the House Elf, Hermione had trouble seeing his facial expressions.

She heard the soft cadence of his voice replying to whatever the House Elf had said. She grabbed her wand again, ready to hex him to kingdom come and back again if the Elf started crying at Malfoy's insult.

To her utter bafflement, the House Elf started beaming and nodding. "Many thanks, Mr. Malfoy, Sir. We always liked you here, Sir. Please come back soon, Sir."

Draco inclined his head. Hermione considered acting like she hadn't seen the encounter, but then decided against it. She, wordlessly, watched as Malfoy got up and left the kitchen without so much as a glance her way or a word of thanks to the House Elves.

Hermione stood up and grabbed her novel. She waved with enthusiasm and merriness she didn't feel. "Thank you so much for the lovely meal," she said. Hermione felt like she had to pick up his slack. Hermione didn't want them to feel like they were unappreciated. "Malfoy and I much enjoyed it."

"Oh, many thanks, Miss," the same House Elf that had been chatting with Malfoy said. "We knows Mr. Malfoy enjoyed his meal, right, Trenkie?"

Trenkie, who'd just been passing the both of them with a tray of desserts, looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Y-Yes, exactly. Mr. Malfoy came here often when he was littler."

Hermione frowned at that. Malfoy used to come here often? This didn't fit anything she knew about Malfoy. He was a foul, arrogant, little cockroach and the fact that he was just nice to a House Elf threw her off a little.

Malfoy seemed to have more layers than she gave him credit for, and she didn't like it one bit.

She thanked the House Elves again for their hospitality and said goodbye. Hermione made her way back to the window sill that she was quickly coming to think of as her new hiding spot. She conjured some floating lights, so she could read the pages better, and sat down. She pulled her legs up a little and used them to lay her book against. Only after she'd finished Wuthering Heights did she realise she'd lost track of time, and that night had already fallen.

With feet that felt like lead, she made her way back to the deserted Common Room and plopped down on the couch. She stared into the dying embers until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning she was confronted by a laughing pair of Gryffindors. "Good morning, Hermione," Seamus said with a grin, as Dean poked him in the side. "Everything all right?"

Hermione watched the way they held themselves around each other and wondered when they would finally come clear to each other. It was so obvious that their friendship was so much more. If only they'd see it as well. "Yeah. You going off to breakfast?" she asked, tilting her head to the side a little as she watched how Seamus grabbed Dean's fingers and held them in his grasp.

"Yes," Seamus said and struggled to pull his fingers free.

Hermione laughed a little.

"Are you joining us?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment, but found that she didn't have the willpower to force herself to be sociable today. "I – no. I still have a lot of homework to do."

Dean gave her a look and was about to speak when Seamus cried victory. He'd gotten his fingers back. "If you're sure," Dean drawled unsurely.

"I am," Hermione said and forced a smile for his benefit. "Enjoy breakfast."

Seamus nodded at her and then pulled Dean towards the portrait. They were such odd ducks, Hermione thought lovingly. She watched them disappear and deflated as soon as the portrait fell shut behind them. She had no idea what she was going to do today. She'd already read the novels she'd brought with her twice. She could go back to the library, but she'd finished her homework yesterday.

Hermione groaned and fell back on the couch as she stared at the Christmas tree on her left. It was a lovely tree, decorated in the Gryffindor colours and it even had a little Santa Claus flying around the twinkling star on top.

All right, she thought. That was enough self pity for today. She could just go back to the kitchens for breakfast. That way she wouldn't have to mentally exhaust herself by being sociable with the others. Hermione took a deep breath and pushed herself out of the couch. She left the novel she'd fallen asleep with on the couch and followed in Dean and Seamus' footsteps. She made her way down to the dungeons and tickled the pear. She watched it squirm without much emotion and then entered the bustling kitchen.

Trenkie ran towards her with a broad grin. "Miss came back!"

"Hello Trenkie," Hermione greeted him. "Could I maybe have a pancake or two?"

"Yes, Miss, of course!" And off he went.

Hermione sighed and watched how food was set on plates and then magically disappeared. She knew that the food must have gone upstairs and that her fellow students were currently enjoying their breakfast. She sat down at the table and stared at the disappearing food. Even after all these years, Hermione still loved magic. She liked to find out the way it worked, how to manipulate it and invent her own spells. She lived for magic now, if she was being honest.

Her pancakes had just arrived when the door opened. She looked over her shoulder only to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, glaring at her.

"What?" she snapped, before she could stop herself. She really didn't need Malfoy sneering at her today.

"Why aren't you upstairs, Granger?"

"Why aren't you?" she retorted.

He didn't answer, but as if to prove a point, he went to sit beside her. If he thought that was a human equivalent of pissing around to mark his territory, he had another thing coming. Hermione refused to move away, even when his leg accidentally touched hers. She felt him retreat fast enough, so she didn't have to anyway. Her back was stiff and her neck would certainly be sore later today from her taut muscles, but despite all the tension her pancakes still tasted great.

Malfoy ordered scrambled eggs and bread for breakfast, and she watched from the corner of her eyes how he tried to solve a magical crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. Whenever he found a word the letters would light up magically, but there was a catch. You had to be fast enough to solve the whole puzzle or the words would disappear and you'd get a whole different puzzle. He cursed when the puzzle disappeared when he was too slow to fill in the last two words.

Hermione tried not to think along with the crossword puzzle, but she found herself squinting at the tiny letters as she tried to solve it along with Malfoy. She'd almost forgotten how smart he was. Even Hermione struggled with a few words, but in the end she was the first to find the last one. Malfoy was still shaking his head and staring at the paper with a frustrated look.

Hermione, realising she'd absentmindedly finished her pancakes, tapped the table. The ingredient that is much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, causes hot-headedness and recklessness.

"Sneezewort," she said, looking at how the light dawned on Malfoy's face.

"I don't need your help, Granger," he said, while scribbling down the answer.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Malfoy didn't thank her, nor had she expected him to. She glanced at the golden finished crossword puzzle, but didn't say anything. He wasn't worth any more of her words.

She didn't even really know why she'd helped him out, but the knowledge had burned on her tongue. She'd had to say it or she'd have burst. Even if it meant helping Malfoy. She asked for a cup of tea and together they finished breakfast in silence. Not companionable per se, but better than it had been the night before.


	3. A Soul of Ash

_Hi guys,_

_I'm so sorry for my absence. My laptop crashed and I only just now bought a replacement. Yikes._

_I wish you all a happy 2016 filled with well-written fics and books!_

_Love,_

_Kelly_

#  **III A Soul of Ash**

On the 25th of December Hermione woke up on the couch. The fire crackled merrily, and Hermione stared into it for a few breaths. She wondered what it felt like to burn with such ferocity that you left everything behind in shambles and ashes.

            When she turned her head sideways, she found out what had woken her up; Seamus and Dean were eagerly unwrapping their Christmas gifts. The pile under the Christmas tree was big, but it didn't lure Hermione from her spot on the couch. It was only when Dean gave her a suspicious look that she pushed herself to her feet.

            It seemed important to her right then that her fellow Gryffindors never found out how the war's fire had burned her soul to ash.

            “Who did you bribe to get so many presents, Hermione?” Dean asked her amusedly.

            Hermione followed his pointed finger to the stack of presents that, apparently, now belonged to her. She counted them quickly and frowned when she came to the conclusion she had no less than twenty-four wrapped boxes waiting for her. “Oh, wow,” she breathed and sat down as if in a dream.

            She felt torn and unsure. Hermione wasn't happy with all the attention and presents; she hadn't thought to send that many people a gift this year. She bit her lip and grabbed the first present. It turned out to be a new watch from Harry.

            It was spelled in a similar way to the Weasley's kitchen clock. It still said the time, but with the spell Harry had enclosed Hermione would be able to use it as a timetable. It would come in handy to time manage her school work more. A small smile decorated her face as she set it aside gingerly.

            Her next present was from Ron. _The Life of the Average Salem Witch_ by Zammelie Zane. Hermione was touched that he remembered her mentioning this book during the summer and her desire to read it. She gently laid it next to Harry's present.

            From her parents she got a new set of quills, and from Mrs Weasley she got a batch of freshly baked cookies. She'd always been fond of Mrs Weasley's cooking, and she made a mental note to send Molly a lengthy thank you letter.

            The next present was from Ginny and Luna both. They'd gotten her a book about mysterious magical beasts whose actual existence were still in doubt. The other presents were from people she didn't really know. Parents who wished to thank her for her part in the Second Wizarding War, a lengthy letter of the Ministry of Magic wishing her a merry Christmas and the promise of an internship next July.

            When she arrived at the last present, a long, black box, she hesitated for a moment. The wrapping paper had been a gorgeous silver with dancing snowflakes, and she found it a pity to tear it. Hermione ignored the laughter of Dean as something blew up in Seamus' face. At least some things never changed.

            She swallowed and then opened the box. In it was a small, enchanted bracelet. It twinkled like dancing starlight and spelled the word “WITCH” in long, curling letters. It was a gorgeous piece and the elegant handwriting was enchanted to twinkle.

            Hermione put it back in the box and stared at it, dumbfounded. The letters had stopped moving. Curious, Hermione let her fingers caress the smooth exterior, and they started pulsing once more. She held her other fingers to her throat and smiled. “It's my heartbeat,” she breathed.

            She tried to find a note but none was attached. Her enthusiasm dimmed a little. Could it be cursed?

            It seemed like an expensive gift to send without a simple note. She grabbed her wand, and Hermione spoke the first few detection spells she could think of. Only when those gave her the clear, did she grab the box again. She abruptly stood up and spelled her presents to float to her room.

            “Where are you going?” Seamus asked her, his face still had a few black smudges here and there.

            “McGonagall,” Hermione replied absentmindedly.

            “Will you come to the feast tonight, Hermione?”

            Hermione mumbled something affirmative as she dashed through the portrait hole, ignoring the complaints of the Fat Lady for disturbing her this early in the morning.

            If any curses were entwined in the silver, McGonagall would find them. 

**2. Anger**

Hermione reread her Arithmacy homework for the hundredth time and barely managed to swallow the frustrated scream. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

            In a fit of chagrined resentment, Hermione tore the parchment to pieces and threw it across the dorm. She silently watched how the pieces fluttered to the ground and sighed. She'd have to redo the whole assignment now, but somehow Hermione couldn't find it in her to care. She wouldn't have handed it in anyway. It was horrid.

            She grabbed the book Ron had given her and tried to read a few pages. When she caught herself reading the same paragraph for the fifth time she slammed the heavy book shut with a thud. Hermione dropped it on her bed and ignored the groan of her bedsprings.

            She didn't know what to do with herself. A look on her new watch told her that it was only three in the afternoon. She still had three more hours before dinner, and she had no idea how she was going to spend them. She'd already done all of her homework, save her Arithmacy assignment but she didn't feel up to the task.

            She bit her lip and stared blankly ahead with balled fists. Frustration formed a bottomless pit in her belly, and she wanted to rip into something. Her heartbeat sped up and her breathing became heavier.

            When a soft ticking noise echoed through the room, she loudly screamed: “WHAT?!”

            The owl on her window ledge didn't seem impress with her anger management issues. She crawled out of bed and walked towards the window, opened it and grabbed the letter gently.

Hermione had never heard she made when the owl nipped at her fingers come out of her before. It nearly resembled a growl and, if Hermione had been in her right mind, she would have been troubled by her irrational anger with an innocent animal.

            “Just go,” she finally said. “Leave like the rest of them.”

            She turned her back to the owl and walked back towards her bed. It was Ginny's reply to her earlier letter. Hermione read it quickly and found that Harry had bought Ginny her own owl for Christmas.

            When Hermione looked back up, the owl was still sitting on the ledge. Disgruntled, Hermione got up and transformed her book into a bowl. “Aguamenti,” she whispered and tapped the bowl. She put it in front of the owl, who happily drank most of it.

             Hermione watched the owl until it took off and closed the window again. She sighed and let herself slide, by the wall, to the floor.

            She pulled up her knees, hid her face between her arms and wept.

 

* * *

 

For the occasion, the House Elves had transformed the Great Hall into an icy paradise. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought to be in a fairy winter wonderland. The Hall was lit by blue dancing flames, the wooden tables were replaced by glass ones and everything was decorated in various shades of blue and silver. The ground was even covered in magical snow that didn't feel cold to the touch when Hermione bent down to feel.

            She sat down at the, still empty, table and waited. She'd taken an old copy of Witch Weekly that she'd found in the common room with her and had just started reading, when she heard someone sit down beside her.

            Hermione didn't need to look up to know that it was Draco Malfoy. She'd recognise his smell anywhere. It was a mix of something typically masculine that she couldn't really name, but that reminded her of a panther; elegant and dangerous. It was probably some expensive magical cologne she'd never heard of. Malfoy also smelled like wood, the kind of smell Harry usually had after having flown and cleaned his broomstick. The combination of the two scents had been haunting her ever since she'd solved his crossword puzzle.

            “There are other seats,” Hermione said, teeth clenched, “you do not need to sit beside me.”

            He didn't reply.

            Hermione exhaled through her nose and imagined her breath to be smoke. She felt like a character in a Muggle caricature; roughly sketched and ridiculous. “Ferret got your tongue?”

            That got a reaction out of him. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes. “Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to be rude to your table guests?”

            “No,” Hermione snapped. “Not if they want me out of the wizarding community.”

            Malfoy's expression remained calm, but there was something in his icy eyes that seemed to heat up. “You presume too much, Granger.”

            Hermione gave his sleeve, that successfully hid his Death Eater's mark, a pointed look.

            He pursed his lips and looked away from her.

            Hermione knew she'd caught the Snitch with that last one but didn't feel any better. She somehow felt worse. Malfoy was part of the movement that had killed so many people, and he was sitting right there; unmarked by the war, while night terrors still haunted her.

            “You disgust me,” she snarled, her lip curling with distaste. Whenever she saw him, she got a foul taste in her mouth.

            “Take a Peppy Mint,” Malfoy suggested. “That should cheer you up and get rid of the taste in your mouth.”

            It threw her off for a moment until she realised she must have spoken aloud. She pursed her lips and decided against violence. This time.

            Together they sat in uncomfortable silence as Hermione read how to make her lipstick last through the night, and Malfoy made another crossword puzzle.

            If the professors and their fellow students thought their behaviour weird, they didn't say anything when they spotted them. As soon as everyone, save McGonagall, had taken their seats, Hermione noticed that Dean was giving her the stink-eye. Ah, so they had noticed her weird behaviour then.

            “How can you sit next to him?” he asked, nodding to Malfoy.

            “It was not by choice,” Hermione said pointedly, although sheer pride had been the only thing stopping her from claiming another seat.

            Seamus gave her a look. “He shouldn't be at this table in the first place,” he muttered darkly.

            Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, before she looked down her nose at Malfoy, who'd put the newspaper away. Their eyes caught. “I know.”

            A muscle near his mouth ticked.

            “Miss Granger?”

            Hermione looked away from her neighbour as if burned. The Headmistress was standing beside her with a bracelet in her hands. Her Christmas present. “We couldn't find any curses,” McGonagall said kindly. “Mr Flitwick and I spent the better part of the afternoon on it, and although it offered a fun pastime now that most students have left, we didn't find a single thing wrong with it.” She looked down her nose at her student and something told Hermione that the Headmistress was pitying her.

            “It's good to be cautious,” McGonagall continued and handed over the bracelet. “You did well bringing it to me.”

            Hermione took it and looked up at the professor, who gently padded her on the shoulder. She watched McGonagall walk up to the dais, where the other teachers were sat, and then looked down at the bracelet. It was softly pulsing in time with her heartbeat, and Hermione attached it to her right wrist.

            “It's so pretty,” said Anita.

            “Was it a Christmas present? Who is it from?” Rina asked.

            “Yes, and I don't know,” Hermione said as she looked at it.

            “Hm,” Rina said, “curious.”

            The boys, not ready to spend their Christmas meal talking about jewellery, quickly started a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione zoned out and went through the motions on autopilot. She was happy for the distraction, when McGonagall wished them all a merry Christmas and the food appeared.

            When she went for the pitcher with pumpkin juice, her hand bumped into Malfoy's. She immediately retreated and glared fiercely at him.

            Well then, seemed like she wasn't having pumpkin juice after all.

            “Get off it, Granger,” Malfoy said, apparently having had enough of being treated like a social pariah.

            “Excuse me?” she asked, outraged.

            “Do you need your ridiculously small ears checked? Or maybe your giant hair is blocking sound now, too, in addition to my view in class.”

            “Fuck off, Malfoy,” Dean said angrily. “Leave her alone.”

            “No, I'm done with this nonsense.” He turned his icy glare on her and Hermione felt her ire spike. “Maybe everyone's okay walking on eggshells around you, Granger, but I'm done participating in this folly. You're not the only one that went through the war. You're not the only one who lost people, and you're certainly not the only one at breaking point. So suck it up, like the rest of us, and stop bloody crying about it.”

            Hermione's mouth fell open as he angrily got up from the table and grabbed some bread. Without another word he walked out of the Great Hall.

            “What the bloody hell,” she said in true Ron-fashion, as she watched Quinten following him in a mad dash.

            She turned to her table mates but none of them would look at her. Dean and Seamus were busy glaring at Malfoy's retreating back, and the others pretended to be busy with something - anything - else.

            Hermione looked at the teacher's table, only to see that McGonagall was eyeing her worriedly.

            Had she truly become so fragile that everyone just stayed out of her way? She felt her shell harden as she sat up a little straighter. “I'm not hungry,” she said, blinking away angry tears and got up from her seat. She grabbed her Witch Weekly, and after hesitating, grabbed Malfoy's copy of the Daily Prophet which had lain between them on the bench.

            “Hermione,” Dean started, only to fall silent again.

            “He’s full of it,” Seamus spat. “You don’t have to go.”

            She forced a smile and nodded at them. “Thank you, but I don’t want to ruin the mood. Merry Christmas, everyone.” With that said, she turned on her heel and marched out of the Great Hall.

            Merry Christmas indeed, she thought bitterly. Hermione only slowed down when she reached what she'd come to consider her spot, several stories up. She wasn't dressed to spend much time in the chilly corridor, but like Ron would say: was she a witch or not?

            Hermione muttered a spell that warmed the air around her and sat down on the window seat. She laid the Daily Prophet down before her gingerly. She stared at it as if it could burst into flames at any moment. Hermione bit her lip and hugged her copy of Witch Weekly close.    

            Hermione didn't know how long she sat there, but when she finally reached the Gryffindor common room just before midnight, she'd finished the crossword puzzle that Malfoy had started again.


End file.
